


First Day

by ObabScribbler



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: AddictMV, Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust-Typical Sexual Content (Hazbin Hotel), Bad Parenting, Canon Compliant, Charlie is an eternal optimist, F/F, Fat Nuggets is Too Cute, Gen, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Mostly Gen, Poor Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Pre-Canon, Protective Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Rape Recovery, Shippy Gen, Vaggie is So Done (Hazbin Hotel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25415959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObabScribbler/pseuds/ObabScribbler
Summary: Angel Dust's arrival at the Happy Hotel is not the enormous success Charlie had hoped it would be. For one thing, he expects to keep a pig in his room. For another, he is carrying more baggage with him than just his suitcases. How is she supposed to prove her theories about rehabilitation and redemption if the one demon who agreed to stay in her hotel won't open up to her about the things he has been through during his time in Hell?
Relationships: Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 8
Kudos: 177





	First Day

**Author's Note:**

> _Hope is the thing with feathers  
>  That perches in the soul,  
> And sings the tune without the words,  
> And never stops at all._  
> \-- Emily Dickinson

“No! No animals.”

“If the pig don’t stay, I don’t stay.”

“This is a pet-free hotel!”

“Fine.” Angel shrugged all four shoulders and turned to go. “I’m outta here.”

“No wait!” With the speed of a striking cobra, Charlie dashed forward and grabbed an upper elbow. He wrenched away, fixing her with a look that could curdle milk.

“Don’t touch the merchandise, sister.”

With nervous habitualness, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Meeting Angel’s eyes was always awkward, even when she wasn’t flustered, so she settled for looking at the tiny pig cradled in his lower arms. It gazed up at her, tilting its head to one side. She wondered if it was assessing her against some porcine success criteria or just wondering whether she had food. It was a cute little thing, she had to admit; not the kind of pet she would have expected of someone like Angel Dust, much less for him to get so defiant over something that wasn’t himself. The pig gave a soft oink and rubbed at its eye with a tiny knuckle, then leaned back and wiggled its horns against Angel’s chest fluff the way a cat might affectionately rub its head against someone it likes. It was impossibly adorable.

“Charlie no.” Vaggie cut her off before she could speak. Charlie didn’t have to look to know she was scowling. “No pets. They piss and shit and stink up everywhere! We’re trying to run a legit establishment, not a … a squat!”

“I’d eat my gloves if you squatted for anyone, Toots,” Angel sniped. “And I’ll have you know that Fat Nuggets is completely house trained.”

_Its name is Fat Nuggets?_ Charlie’s lip curled. It wasn’t nearly as cute a name as the pig deserved.

Vaggie growled, “Te romperé todos los brazos, idiota!”

“Vaggie.” Charlie kept her voice even, turning to fix her girlfriend with an imploring look. “He’s our only guest.” _And we can’t lose him. If we do, nobody else is even willing to try redemption._ The remains of her sentence were left unspoken but poured so completely into her expression that she knew from Vaggie’s tightly folded arms the message had been received.

“I want it on record that I strenuously disagree with this.” Vaggie glared at Angel. “ _Strenuously._ ”

Instead of displaying any kind of gratitude, Angel smirked at them both. “Ohhhh, so _she’s_ the top and _you’re_ the bottom. Got it.”

“¡Te mataré mientras duermes!” Vaggie spat. “¡Te despertarás para descubrir que ya no tienes globos oculares!”

“Se vuoi insultarmi, fallo in una lingua che posso capire. L'italiano è una lingua superiore allo spagnolo.” Angel smiled sweetly. “Toots.”

Vaggie’s hands flexed against her cupped elbows as if she was fighting the urge to reach for his throat. Charlie stepped between them, placing her own palms on Vaggie’s shoulders. The bare skin there was cold. Vaggie always felt cold to the touch. She often complained of a bone-deep chill that they could both only assume was part of her punishment here in Hell. Charlie allowed a smidge of fire into her fingers, not enough to bring forth actual flames but enough to make the tips glow. She watched as Vaggie’s whole frame sagged a little at the calming warmth. When she reached to cover one of Charlie’s hands with her own, Charlie knew the potential argument was over.

“Angel, I’ll help you take your things to your room,” she said over her shoulder. “Do you have many bags?”

“Does the pope shit in the Vatican? You don’t look as gorgeous as me without a helluva wardrobe, Sugar Tits.”

Vaggie tensed again. Charlie leaned forward so their foreheads touched. “Go start dinner, hun,” she murmured. “I’ll help him get settled and then we can eat together.”

“Him too?”

“I wouldn’t eat with you guys if you paid me!” Angel called out. “Well, maybe if you paid me…”

“No, just us. Could you make up a tray for him?”

Vaggie closed her eyes. “Sure,” she sighed. “I can do that.”

“You’re the best.” Charlie briefly brushed their lips together before pulling away, tugging down the hem of her jacket in a vain attempt to give herself some confidence. _Look the part. Be the part. Royalty is as royalty does. And royalty doesn't take shit from other demons._ “This way, if you please, Angel.” She gestured down the corridor from the lobby. “We’ve given you a fifth-floor room, since that floor was recently renovated –”

“Ground floor.”

“Wh-what?”

“I don’t want to be on an upper floor.” Angel scratched Fat Nuggets behind the ears, inspiring a tiny oink of pleasure. “Easier for things that fly to bust through your window on an upper floor. Ground floor only.”

“I … I mean … okay but … the ground floor hasn’t been renovated for decades so the rooms aren’t … very nice. In fact only a few of them are … actually habitable.”

He shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“Well … okay then.” Charlie gripped one of the enormous suitcases her limo driver had dumped in the lobby before leaving. She tried to lift it, nearly dislocated her shoulder and nervously tried again with both hands. “Wow, what do you have in this thing?”

“Just clothes.”

“Seriously?”

“Not all of us are content to look like a bellhop harlequin every day, Sugar Tits.”

Charlie’s cheeks flushed. She looked down at her outfit. She had thought it made her look more professional, like an executive or someone else who knew what they were doing. Tucking hair behind her ears, she again pulled at the suitcase. It was too heavy to lift so she settled for dragging it along the corridor and giving Angel directions as he strode ahead of her.

“Left … here …”

“Which number?”

“Sixty … nine ...”

“You shitting me?”

“Rooms one … to fifty … are technically … the utility areas … and the ballroom …”

“Cute.”

The décor was anything but cute, Charlie reflected. The only reason her father had let her use this hotel was because it was three steps from being condemned anyhow. Once upon a time it had been host to grand cotillions and elite demons dancing all night while Exterminators swept away those left out in the open. Now, one too many exterminations had left the exterior damaged and ugly and the interior bereft of clientele – or interest from its owners. She supposed that was what happened when you had so much money you could afford to cut your losses on a whole building and just move your business elsewhere. What was left of the previous guest list now stayed at a newer, less destroyed one of her father’s hotels uptown, where the carpets weren’t peeling off the floors and nothing leaked or creaked when you stepped on it.

Angel stopped outside Room 69. He spent a second giggling at the number before letting Charlie unlock it with her master key. Inside the floor was bare of any carpet at all and the wallpaper, while intact, had a musty odour that made her nose wrinkle. She couldn’t let Angel stay in here!

“I’m sorry,” she started.

“Not bad.”

“Excuse me?”

He stalked into the room, inspecting each corner before standing in the centre by the big double bed. There were no sheets but it would be a simple matter to bring them down from the room they had planned to be his. He tapped at his chin and leaned over to look in the wide dresser mirror against the other wall.

“These lights work?” He indicated the dormant bulbs around the edges.

“Um … I think so?” Charlie hazarded. She dragged the suitcase over the threshold and then searched for a socket around the back of the dresser. One overstretched arm was rewarded with a plug and a switch. She flipped it and the dresser lights flared to life, bathing the room in a soft blue glow. Dusty crystals in the chandelier refracted a cacophony of twinkles across the ceiling.

Angel nodded in satisfaction. “Kitschy.”

“Is … is that good?”

He gave her a sidelong look that might have been offended before it turned into another smirk. “Do you, like, even have a backbone, Sugar Tits?”

“Of course I do! I’m not an invertebrate demon.” She stood straighter and added, “And my name is Charlie, not … what you said.”

“Sugar Tits?” Angel raised an eyebrow. His smirk widened. “You’d prefer I didn’t call you _Sugar Tits_?”

“Yes.” She only quailed a little under his stare. “Uh, please.”

He shrugged and turned away. “Okay then.”

She blinked. “Oh. Right.” She had expected that to be more difficult. He still had not stopped calling Vaggie ‘Toots’ even though she had demanded he do so. “I’ll go get your other bags.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.”

She nearly fell out of the doorway, righted herself and walked away with a stiff-legged gait that she managed to maintain until his laugher had faded with distance.

At the end of corridor, she allowed herself a moment of weakness to lean against the wall. Her chin sank onto her chest and she could feel the backs of her eyes prickling. Angrily, she shook her head. Now was not the time for crying. So this was turning out to be harder than she had imagined; so what? Things were still on track. All they had to do was keep Angel Dust on the straight and narrow for long enough to showcase him as proof of concept. Endless calling had secured the promise of a TV interview and, though the network had not given them a definite date for it, that had to mean there was at least _some_ interest in her theory of rehabilitation and redemption as a humane answer to Hell’s overpopulation.

“You don’t take shit from other demons,” she whispered to herself. “Royalty is as royalty does.”

Quoting her father didn’t buoy her as much as it once would have. His exasperated words were still too fresh in her memory.

_“Fine, fine, but when you fuck this up just like everything else, don’t come running to me.”_

Her heart clenched. She reached into her pocket, seized by the desire to talk to her mother. Speed dial, however, rendered her straight to voice mail yet again.

“Hey Mom. Just … just calling to say my first guest at the Happy Hotel checked in today. He’s a really promising prospect. I’m really hopeful this is going to work out. Really.” She fumbled to put her tumbling thoughts and emotions into words. “Well … that’s it, I guess. Tell Dad I said hi. And … and I love you. Both. I love you both. Bye.”

She had not spoken to her mother in so long, she was beginning to forget what her voice sounded like. Charlie’s fingers cramped around the edges of the phone so hard she worried the screen might crack. Or maybe it was her who was going to crack. She slipped it back into her pocket, shook out her hand and carried on to the lobby.

Razzle and Dazzle sat atop the rest of Angel’s luggage. They smiled, ready to handle the heavy lifting this time. A small smile crept across her face. Between them, they managed to manhandle two suitcases and what looked like an oversized hat box back to Room 69. The door was unexpectedly closed so she knocked and waited for a response, Razzle and Dazzle fluttering behind her with suitcases dangling from their claws like they weighed nothing.

“It’s open,” came the muffled response.

She leaned on the handle with an elbow and stumbled in, the hat box obscuring her vision. She had assumed that would be the easies thing to carry but the odd shape was proving her wrong.

“Where should I put thi- whoa!” Her feet collided with something and she pitched forward. A squeal erupted somewhere at floor level. She tried to stop her fall but with her arms occupied, she could do nothing as she belly-flopped and crushed the hat box. She felt it crunch under her cheek. “Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no!”

“Nuggs!”

Pushing herself up on her elbows, she looked behind her. Angel scooped up the little pig from where she had accidentally tripped over it. Fat Nuggets nuzzled into the crook of one elbow and grunted anxiously.

“I’m so sorry! Is it … he … she hurt?”

Crouched on the floor, Angel quickly checked the little creature over with a frantic attention Charlie did not expect. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, _he’s_ okay. No thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see him there. It was an accident.” She waved a hand. "Razzle, Dazzle, put those suitcases with the others, please." On her hands and knees, she scooted over to Angel and dipped her head toward the little pig. “I’m sorry, uh, Fat Nuggets. I didn’t mean to hurt you, honey. Are you okay?”

“Are you actually talking to my pig right now?”

“Of course I am. Animals are far smarter than most think.”

“I knew you were nuts but this is cringe even for you, Little Miss Sunshine. Do you fart rainbows and vomit sparkles too? Or are you about to break into song?” He gave a gulping snort of a laugh. "I'll bet you're the kind of girl who thinks an ootsy-cutesy song is the answer to all conflict."

Charlie frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to be positive.”

“Spoken like someone who’s only know a life of privilege and the safety that buys her from her own stupidity.”

The bite in his tone shocked her. This was not playful jibing; real venom laced Angel’s words. She reflexively tucked her hair behind her ears and sat back on her heels.

“Well … like I said when we first met, for the duration of your stay at the hotel, my privilege and the safety it brings will extend to you, too. And Fat Nuggets.”

The pig lifted his head to look at her, little nostrils flaring. Struck by inspiration, Charlie rooted in her other pocket.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Angel’s tone switched to exasperation.

“I think I have some … ah, here it is.” She brought out a somewhat linty sphere wrapped in a twist of silver paper. “Is he allowed to eat candy?”

Angel blinked at her. “He’s a demon pig. He’d eat your face if you let him. And not in the good way.”

Undeterred, Charlie unwrapped the treat and offered it on an outstretched palm. Fat Nuggets craned his neck for an experimental sniff. With a delighted squeak, he snatched it up in his mouth. As Charlie put her fists against her sides in satisfaction, he crunched and oinked in sugary bliss. He even wagged his tail.

“I hope we can be friends, Fat Nuggets.”

He replied with a happy grunt.

“Are you actively _trying_ to be a Disney Princess?” Angel demanded, gesticulating wildly with the two hands not currently full of pig. “Because I got news for you, Sweetheart: this is _Hell_ and in Hell there ain’t no Disneyfied happy ending for _none_ of us.”

“I can’t accept that,” Charlie replied, still watching Fat Nuggets. Was it possible for demon pigs to smile? “I can’t accept there’s no hope for anyone. That’s the whole point of this hotel. I believe everyone deserves the chance at a happier ending than the one they got when they died.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Maybe. But you’re here, aren’t you?”

Angel rolled his eyes and took a drag off a cigarette Charlie only now realised he was holding. The cherry glowed hot pink and trailed smoke in an almost pretty plume as he flicked ash on the floor. “Yeah. I totally believe in this cockamamie plan of yours. I’m absolutely not just here for the free room and board.”

“I’m trying to help,” Charlie said softly. Her hands fell from her hips to dangle in her lap. “I know practically no-one thinks it’ll work. I know no-one thinks I, of all demons, can pull it off. But I have to at least _try_.” She clenched her fists. “Hell is my home. I wasn’t born on Earth like you. This is all I’ve ever known so … you’d think I wouldn’t question how things work around here, especially since they benefit me and my family. The status quo works for royalty and demons from the elite. But every time the Exterminators come …” Her nails cut into her palms. “Every extermination, I see the bodies of all the poor demons who didn’t make it and I wish … I wish there was another way. Something better than just … suffering down here and then ceasing to exist from being unlucky enough to get caught out in the open on the wrong night. It’s wrong. It’s … it’s a stupid system and I want to see it changed to at least give sinners the _chance_ of getting out of this cycle of … of _wrongness_.”

There went the prickling on the backs of her eyeballs again. She absolutely could _not_ cry in front of Angel Dust. She tilted her head up, hoping that would drive the tears back, and was surprised to see him watching her with a strange kind of intensity.

“You’re an idiot,” he said – but there was no venom this time. “A Grade A, bonafide schmuck. You think if you can prove redemption is possible, everything in this shithole realm will turn into … fuck, I dunno. Puppy dog smiles and puffy wuffy clouds or some shit like that?”

“I don’t think it’ll be that simple,” she admitted. “But I do think if we can prove rehabilitation of sinners is possible, it’ll give demons … hope.”

“Hope,” Angel snorted. “In Hell?”

“Yes,” Charlie answered firmly. “Hope in Hell.”

He gave her that strange intense look again, then ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “È triste che tu sia delirante. Mi sento quasi male per approfittare di te.” He eyed her. “Quasi.”

Charlie frowned. “Is that French?”

“Italian.” He got to his feet. “The language of seduction, Sweetheart.” He started to blow her a kiss but froze, gaze fixed behind her.

Charlie turned. There was nothing out of the ordinary there, just the brightly lit dresser and the hat box that had popped open when she landed on it. Still on her knees, she shuffled to stuff its contents back inside and put it with the other suitcases. Only when she had a fluffy, metallic object in one hand and realised the other was resting on a long, veiny piece of plastic did she comprehend that what she had landed on was most definitely _not_ a hat box.

“Oh my gosh …” she squeaked, blushing scarlet.

Angel shouldered her aside, grabbing things with his second set of arms and shoving them haphazardly back into the luggage. He slammed the box shut and rounded on her, expression darkening when he saw what was still in her hand.

Charlie looked at the handcuffs, edged in white fur spotted with little pink hearts. Her blush deepened and she held them out to him wordlessly. Angel snatched them, expression thunderous and almost …

She blinked. Was it her imagination or did he look _scared_?

“Okay, we’re done here. Get out,” Angel snapped.

“Oh. Um. Okay. I guess you’ll … want some time to settle in. do you want –”

“Nothing. I don’t want nothing from you.”

She paused. “Not even dinner?”

“Do I have to leave my new digs?”

“No, I can bring you a tray of food.”

“Do that then.” Angel turned away from her, effectively dismissing her and ending the conversation. He threw his cigarette into an ashtray on the dresser and immediately lit up another. The room had already started to take on a smoky pall and the scent of something sickly and tart emanated from the little white stick. “You deaf? Fuck off already.”

Charlie got to her feet. She waited a moment in case he had something else to say. He did not budge except to hug Fat Nuggets tighter and puff compulsively on his cigarette.

“I … hope you do well here, Angel.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Honestly. I hope this works for you and … you get into Heaven.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Sure. Me in Heaven. Guys like me don’t get into Heaven, Sweetheart. We just fall deeper into the pit in one way or another.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that so she quietly closed the door. In the corridor Razzle and Dazzle waited patiently for her, as they always had since her father enchanted the two plush toys to life as playmates for his lonely daughter when she was still a child. They were living proof that he had cared about her once, before she failed in so many things at which princesses were supposed to excel and brought disappointment after disappointment to his door.

Something delicious was bubbling on the stove when Charlie entered in the kitchen. The air was hot and muggy, windows closed to keep the heat firmly inside. Vaggie had laid out a tray already with a hunk of bread, a scraping of butter and an empty bowl. As Charlie entered, she watched her girlfriend fill it with a scoop from the pot.

“Smells good, hun.”

“I went with chilli,” Vaggie replied. She sounded calmer than before. Cooking always improved her mood. When she was alive she and her grandmother made sprawling meals for their entire family that lasted for hours and were always full of laughter and stories.

“Did you remember –”

“Yes, it’s vegetarian. You think I’d forget you don’t like eating things that used to be alive? Es una buena cosa que seas linda.”

Charlie smiled, watching Vaggie move with seamless grace from counter to stove to table and back again. She cooked with the same efficient grace as she fought, as if everything was a pattern and she knew the exact steps necessary for battle and cuisine. Charlie loved watching Vaggie cook.

When Charlie did not speak, Vaggie paused in her ministrations. “What’s wrong? Did that bastard do something?” Her grip clenched around the wooden spoon. “I’ll bury this this in his bony butt until I can stir his intestines–”

“No, no, it’s fine. Really.” Charlie held out her hands, palm-first. “I’m just waiting to take a tray to him.”

Vaggie frowned. “You look exhausted. Sit down. I’ll take it to him.”

“No, it’s okay, honest –”

“Hun.” Vaggie gave her the Do As I Say Because I Love You glare. Charlie sank onto the bench beside the table. “Good. Wait here. I’ll take this to the _demone estremamente idiota_ and be right back to serve you too.”

“Could you make up a small bowl for Fat Nuggets too?”

“Who the fuck is Fat Nuggets?”

“Angel Dust’s pig.”

“I am not feeding my good chilli to a pig.”

“Please, Vaggie? The little guy’s super sweet.”

“Angel Dust or the pig?”

Charlie hesitated. “Both, given the chance?”

“We’ll agree to disagree on that.” Nonetheless, Vaggie fetched a shallow dish and filled it with a smaller helping of chilli. She set it on the tray and picked the whole thing up, heading for the door.

Charlie smiled tiredly, watching her go. “He’s in Room 69.”

“Why is he in there?”

“I’m not sure. Something about flying demons? He was pretty insistent.”

“Of course he was.”

“Vaggie, don’t threaten him”

“I make no promises.”

“Please!”

Vaggie’s sigh could have rattled the roof tiles. “It’s a good thing I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As her footsteps faded away and Razzle and Dazzle snuck off with a loaf of bread they thought she had not noticed them stealing, Charlie raised her eyes to the ceiling. Nothing was … quite going to plan but, nonetheless, she had a good feeling about Angel Dust and the future of the Happy Hotel. It would take a lot of hard work and sacrifice but she was certain she could prove her father wrong about her and bring about positive change in Hell for once.

“Who the heck says a Disneyfied happy ending is impossible anyway? Those jerks just need more imagination.” She smiled to herself. “And more hope.”

**Author's Note:**

> _And sweetest in the gale is heard;  
>  And sore must be the storm  
> That could abash the little bird  
> That kept so many warm._
> 
> _I've heard it in the chillest land,  
>  And on the strangest sea;  
> Yet, never, in extremity,  
> It asked a crumb of me._
> 
> \-- From 'Hope Is The Thing With Feathers' by Emily Dickinson


End file.
